Okay, look, I have nothing
against weight-challenged people. I could stand to lose a few pounds
myself. Believe me, I know what it's like to wake up in the middle of
the night and eat an entire chocolate bundt cake. But there are
limits to these things, aren't there? Perhaps you'll understand after
hearing the disturbing tale of....

ME AND THE

HUGELY FAT
GUY

By Joe
Tyburczy

February
1999. As you know, those nasty American Airline pilots went on strike
that month. Their actions resulted in the cancellation of many
flights, overtaxing other carriers as disenfranchised passengers
flooded the system. The results of this tragic condition were felt
immediately and most notably by me when I showed up an hour ahead of
time to check a single piece of baggage at LAX's Delta Airlines
ticket counter.

"We only have middle seats
available, Sir". The ticket agent made a pinched face and pecking
motions at her keyboard. "If you want an aisle or window, there may
be some cancellations at the gate. Ask there".

I went to the gate. It was a
pandemonium of standbys, transfers, and overbookings. I asked anyway.
"HA HA HA! Another for the WISH LIST!" the agent guffawed over her
shoulder.

After twenty minutes I
boarded, wishes ungranted. I resigned myself to the relative
discomfort of a middle seat. Ironically, I'd had more than my share
of good luck in the past, snagging the coveted "emergency exit row"
seat (the one with extra leg room) several times in succession.

"Guess my luck has to run out
eventually", I mused, the ever-savvy traveler. What's the worst that
could happen? Sandwiched between two beefy businessmen with laptops?
A screaming, hyperactive, snot-nosed toddler? A fat guy with a bad
case of the flu? It wouldn't be so bad. I'd done it before. I could
handle it.

How mistaken I was.

As luck would have it, I was
the last person to board. I struggled down the aisle and made my way
to seat 34F at very back of the aircraft. People stared at me as I
passed. Some giggled. Many looked at me sorrowfully. One lady made
the sign of the cross.

When I got there, I saw why.
Spread out over 34E, 34F, and most of 34G was THE FATTEST MAN IN THE
KNOWN UNIVERSE. (Here, I must state for the record that though I have
been prone to hyperbole in the past, I swear to God, this is no
exaggeration. I was looking at an authentic Guinness Book oddity. He
was so big that his chest touched the seatback in front of him. His
vast bulk extended out into the aisle for a foot or two. The armrest
separating his seat from mine was removed because of his sheer width.
In essence, there WAS no middle seat any more!)

But that nonexistant middle
seat is where I'd been assigned to sit. "Ladies and Gentlemen we're
next in line for takeoff," crackled the Captain's voice over the
intercom, "please fasten your seat beats".

This couldn't be happening, it
must be some kind of CRUEL JOKE, I thought. A pair of flight
attendants rushed about their business, avoiding eye contact with me.

As the plane jostled down the
runway the fat guy stood up with great difficulty and I numbly
entered the row. Inside I discovered a passenger I hadn't seen
before; a bearded man hugging the window, his eyes clenched shut, his
lips moving in some sort of prayer.

After a brief period of abject
self-pity, I decided that the thing to do was complain, and complain
loudly. My head rested against the fat guy's stomach. Several feet
above, fitful wheezing noises issued from the vicinity of his face.
Despite his unfortunate condition, he looked like a decent guy. I
hated like hell to alienate him. Hey, it wasn't his fault. He was not
to blame for this. It was the airline. Yes, I'd make the airline the
villain. I'd make them pay. But I knew there'd be resistance. The
flight was indeed full and no other available seats existed. To make
this play work, I'd need an unshakeable strategy and a firm resolve.
I hatched a plan, the centerpiece of which involved making a total
unrepentant ass of myself.

BINK! the seatbelt sign winked
off. I got the fat guy's attention and said, "Sorry, but I need to
get up". He rose with difficulty and swayed into the aisle,
momentarily jerking the aircraft off-course. I slid past, clamped a
hand to his shoulder and said, "I'm going to see what I can do about
getting us both some more room". He nodded mutely.

I approached a
motherly-looking flight attendant in the galley. "I have a problem" I
said. Her eyes rolled in sympathy. "Oh yes, I can see your problem,"
she said, "but unfortunately it looks like we can't do anything about
it. This flight is really full".

"Okay, I need to speak with
your supervisor" I said. Moments later a wiry young black woman
arrived to face me down. "Look," I began, "Any reasonable person can
see that there is not adequate room in my assigned seat. You are
endangering both me and the passengers beside me. This is a very
serious situation and I expect you to do something about it
immediately".

"There's nothing I can do,
Sir" she recited, her expression a mask of steely resistance, "there
are no other seats. This a full flight".

"What about YOUR seat?" I shot
back, raising my voice to what I hoped was an irritating whine. "What
about HER seat?" I jabbed a finger at the other stewardess. "What
about the FLIGHT DECK? I'll take the first officers seat, or maybe
the co-pilot's". I added some brisk arm-waving gestures to good
effect as several rows of passengers now turned to watch the
desperate little drama unfold.

"Regulations," she seethed,
"do not permit us to do that, Sir".

"DO REGULATIONS," I bellowed,
"PERMIT YOU TO ENDANGER MY LIFE? This is an unsafe seating condition.
And the way I see it, I paid for one entire seat and have only gotten
half a seat. The man next to me should have been allotted TWO
seats".

"That would be
DISCRIMINATION," she fired back, pronouncing the word with an extra
measure of satisfaction.

"Oh I see. How unfortunate," I
said, whipping out a small, spiral-bound notebook and pen. "I think a
judge and jury might view this all very differently. Your name,
please?" I said, pen poised.

She paused, thinking it over.
Clearly, her use of the D-word had failed to deflate me. "Let me
check and see if there are any mothers with small children that might
move to accomodate you, sir" she said, dripping malice. "Good idea" I
snapped right back.

I stood in the aisle as she
headed forward. I spotted the fat guy. He flashed me a V-For-Victory
sign. The motherly flight attendant sidled up to me, confessing,
"you're in the right, you know". I jotted her name, rank and serial
number down in my notebook as a potential witness for the upcoming
Trial Of The Century. Yes, it'd be me against the airlines and I'd
sway them with my tale of abuse and neglect. A couple of fellow
passengers sought me out for counsel, "I've had the same problem on
other flights" they told me, "I thought there was nothing I could
do".

Minutes passed. It soon became
apparent that several mothers with small children had refused to give
up seats they'd paid good money for. And why should they? This was
all the airline's fault. Murmurs of solidarity filled the economy
class compartment. Talk of a Class Action suit buzzed among the
passengers.

Finally, the head flight
attendant motioned for me to come up front. She indicated an empty
seat at the bulkhead. "I'm not supposed to do this but you can have
my emergency seat. You'll have to vacate it during landing". I sat,
slowly, triumphantly, and asked, "why didn't you do this in the first
place?".

A small, but perceptible
huzzah arose in the cabin. I'd won.

During
landing I sat with the fat guy again. He thanked me for making the
flight better for him. He was a programmer working on the Y2K problem
and had many entertaining tales to relate about how civilization
would come crashing down around us in the months ahead and we'd all
be eating cold beans out of tin cans inbetween fending off hoardes of
looters. We parted friends.

On landing in Tampa, I was
promptly escorted to an office just outside the gate by the head
flight attendant, who deposited me before a uniformed Delta ticketing
agent. Mr. Red Blazer listened courteously to my tale of outrage.
"Would $150 help?" he said. Sensing that this was going to be the
outer limit of their generosity, I quickly accepted a gift
certificate in that amount.

A few days later, I checked in
to Tampa International for the return flight to LAX. By sheer
coincidence, the guy behind the counter was Mr. Red Blazer. "Jeez, I
hope I get a good seat" I said to him, winking like a dolt. He
grinned back, nervously.

Despite the crowded flight, I
enjoyed an entire bulkhead row to myself that featured plenty of
legroom, a free movie, and complimentary wine. It turned out to be
one of the best airline trips I'd ever had.